


Matched

by banshee_in_the_dark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clarke is 17 so underage tag, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smut, bellarke relationship, three prompt fills combined for the bellarke writers network
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A match made in the Ark is put to test on the ground. </p><p>Prompts from the bellarke writers network:</p><p>#1 AU where the Ark has a computer run selection system where they match the most compatible candidates to marry and have a child. Bellamy and Clarke are paired up, but before Clarke reaches the age of majority the events we saw in the flashbacks of Earth Kills and His Sister's Keeper take place. Now on the ground, Clarke and Bellamy finally meet knowing full well who the other is and they sort of gravitate to each other and are weirdly possessive/jealous/protective of the other.</p><p>#2 Clarke is the first (and only?) one to share Bellamy's bed when they arrive on earth.</p><p>#3 Something does happen in that bunker during 'Day Trip' (canon divergence).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matched

**Author's Note:**

> This took forever to write! It also turned out to be three times longer than originally planned but I had so much fun with this universe I _had_ to follow the whole season and adapt episode by episode. I apologize for the many breaks, time jumps quite a bit here and I realize it may feel a little choppy but hopefully you won't be too bothered by it.
> 
> This is dedicated to Laura (imperialimpala on tumblr if you're not following her please correct that mistake thank you) whose lovely vid in honor of bellarke week got me on the mood to finish this thing (and also had to bear my drunken messages. She's a champ).
> 
> Okay! I will leave you to read, hopefully you'll like it, and beware, there's smut ahead. Seriously, I think approximately 3.5K of this is just pure smut so. Enjoy!

“Our daughter shouldn’t have been on the Lottery in the first place. She’s a minor,” Councilwoman Abby Griffin stands directly to Bellamy’s left with her husband, both proud and tall stating their case before the Council. “We demand the match be nullified.”

Her words were carefully enunciated and Bellamy can tell she is keeping a tight leash on the anger bubbling underneath the surface. He can relate. Trying to stay cool and collected when his entire future and the wellbeing of his family are at stake is no easy feat.

“You know very well that’s not possible Abby,” the Chancellor replies with a grievous sigh. He turns to another council member. “Do we know where the problem originated?”

“Yes. Gloria Hath, a resident of Section B-12, hacked into the lottery system and removed her name from the list. The system automatically filled her spot,” he gives a grim smile to the Griffins. “Clarke was scheduled to enter next year’s lottery so her name was at the top of the list.”

“We already have her in lock-up,” Councilman Kane intercedes smoothly. “She’ll be dealt with in the morning.”

Bellamy fights the urge to scowl. ‘Dealt with’ is just a polite way of saying the poor girl would be floated for rebelling against the Ark’s dictates just because she didn’t want to marry a stranger.

It isn’t hard to conceal his true feelings. Years of making sure he didn’t stand out one way or the other – couldn’t be too good or too bad, just _there_ – all in order to keep people from noticing their irregular home life and the illicit existence of his sister have taught him well.

“That doesn’t help my daughter.”

Bellamy glances at the woman, a little insulted by the strangled and pained sound of her voice. He isn’t exactly happy about the situation and he doesn’t want to get married to _anyone_ but she’s acting like it’s a tragedy and frankly, it does kind of hurt his ego. He got matched to the Ark’s princess of all people, daughter of the Head Doctor slash Councilwoman and the Head Engineer slash Everyone’s Favorite Person and he’s painfully aware that they belong to different classes. He can do without her subtly rubbing it in his face, to be honest.

“We can’t nullify the match,” Kane states. “Mr. Blake,” he nods to Bellamy, standing at attention in full guard gear. “And Miss Griffin are compatible in an ninety seven point eight percent according to the system. That’s the highest percentage we’ve ever seen since the lottery was implemented. Even if we could nullify this year’s lottery, which is against the law,” he says, warningly. “Chances are they will be matched in next year’s so we would just be putting off the situation to a later date.”

“You can’t be serious,” Dr. Griffin gasps. “Regardless of their compatibility, Clarke is a child. She can’t be married.”

“She doesn’t have to be,” Jaha places his open palms on the surface of the round table and stands up. Doctor Griffin and her husband share hopeful smiles and hold hands. “Yet.”

And just like that, their hope is crushed.

“Think of it as an engagement. When Clarke comes of age, they can be legally married and until then they will have the opportunity to get to know each other. Which is not something most of the couples matched by the lottery are so lucky to have.”

His tone brooks no argument. Bellamy sighs inwardly. He knew this meeting was a waste of time, although he had clung to the brittle hope that if they were to break the rules and rescind the match, they would do it in favor of one of the privileged. At least he has some time to figure out how the fuck he’s going to keep Octavia’s existence a secret from his future _wife_ and not get them all floated in the process.

Clarke was waiting for them outside the Council room. As a minor, she wasn’t allowed inside the room which she hadn’t tried to hide irritated her quite a lot. That was actually the very first time Bellamy laid eyes on her, as she argued with her parents and Jonson, the guard assigned to the door, voice low and determined and scowling, demanding to be present when a decision that would heavily impact on her future was being made.

She is a pretty little thing, with her light hair, neat braid and big blue eyes that remind him of the Earth’s oceans he could see from the training room window. He’d nodded to her and her mother, shaken her father’s hand when offered and waited silently off to the side until they were let in.

Now he takes a little more time examining her. She has her bottom lip clamped between her teeth and her eyes dart from her parents to him, correctly assuming from their stoic expressions that the Council hasn’t ruled in favor of nullifying the match.

“Well,” Mr. Griffin pulls her beneath his arm, gives Bellamy an actual smile and squeezes his shoulder. “Looks like you’re part of the family now.”

Bellamy doesn’t trust himself to speak. This is the kind of people he’s spent his whole life trying to stay off their radar, yet here he is, practically marrying into them. He clears his throat and nods, glancing at Clarke. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before she looks away, a faint blush coloring her cheekbones.

Okay. That’s… definitely interesting.

“Why don’t we all have lunch together?” Dr. Griffin offers. Her smile isn’t as open as her husband’s but it does reach her eyes. She looks resigned, like she knows changing things isn’t an option anymore and all she can do is roll with it and make the best of it.

He kind of lives by the same philosophy to be honest.

“That’s a great idea!” Mr. Griffin says, far too enthusiastically for someone whose daughter is being given to a total stranger.

The radio clipped to the top of his vest came alive with a click and his presence at the guard HQ was requested.

“I’m sorry, I really need to leave,” Bellamy looks at the Griffins who give him understanding nods, and then settles on Clarke. She swallows but holds his gaze in the awkward silence. “Okay. After my shift I could…” He scrambles for a way to finish the sentence but comes up short. Shit. This was going to end badly.

“Yeah. Sure. Come find me and we’ll talk,” Clarke smiles at him and whoa, she has a nice smile.

She’s actually kind of beautiful.

Yeah. Okay. He better leave before he does something stupid.

* * *

“Hold still.”

“I’m trying but you keep poking – ” a particularly well placed finger jabs him on the side and Bellamy nearly jumps off his seat. He turns to her with a thunderous glare. “Don’t touch me there. I am not kidding.”

Clarke throws her head back and laughs. “I’m sorry,” she wipes the tears from her eyes. “I’ll just finish this very quickly. I promise.”

She runs her fingers surely down his side, silently counting his ribs, identifying the different ridges of firm muscle and consulting with the text and illustration on her tablet. She has a very important test for her medical studies coming up and having Bellamy as her anatomy dummy is an added benefit.

She covertly studies him while he isn’t looking. No one had been more surprised than her when she was notified that she’d been matched through the lottery and that she would soon marry that person. She was supposed to have at least another year before she had to worry about that, about being forced to share her life with a stranger, someone chosen based on test scores and statistics that made no sense to her. Someone she might not like on a personal level and might not be attracted to at all.

Bellamy was completely unexpected. He is quite reserved but he makes the effort to come see her every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes, no matter if he’s dead on his feet after a grueling shift. He isn’t the greatest conversationalist but he is smart and kind and he treats her like an equal. He has a vast knowledge of Roman mythology and history he outright admits is worthless but Clarke finds it adorable when he goes into mini rants about the Etruscan influences on Roman architecture and such. He gets so passionate about the subject his eyes light up and his voice drops a few notches until he’s practically rasping every word out.

It’s a very good look on him.

They never talk about their impending nuptials, just take it day by day and try to get to know each other. He never tries to kiss her, but she has caught his gaze lingering on her lips and certain parts of her anatomy when he thinks she doesn’t notice.

Clarke does a fairly good deal of looking at him too. He’s handsome, that is undeniable, particularly after shifts when he comes to say hi to her looking disheveled and with his usually well-combed hair messy and curling in all directions.

Bellamy sucks in a big breath when she caresses a particular spot on the side of his back, his chest expanding under her fingers and muscles tensing. His narrowed eyes sparkle and a smirk plays with the corners of his lips. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smiles brazenly, trying to sound innocent and failing miserably.

* * *

“This game is stupid.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing.”

Bellamy grins as he moves three infantries from China to Mongolia, effectively taking control of the entire Asian continent. The board between them is nearly completely covered in black with a few red resistance points where Clarke defends her meager territories.

“I’m coming for Australia now,” he warns her, chuckling when she groans.

“You just took five, _five_ territories from me on this round alone,” she glares at him. “Give me a break.”

“Sorry Princess, no can do. Mongolia against Indonesia.”

Clarke whines, warming the dice in her hand as Bellamy makes a show of throwing his and smile smugly when he gets a pair of sixes.

“I hate you,” she informs him before throwing her dice.

His laughter resonates through the communal play room drawing a few glances from the people around them.

* * *

“You’re quiet today.”

Clarke looks up, finding Bellamy’s warm eyes studying her worriedly. Around them the mess hall is bursting with activity, people eager to get their lunch rations and have a moment to sit down and relax before going back to work. Her and Bellamy’s trays ae pushed to the side to make room for their respective tablets. He has several emergency drills and evacuation plans to memorize and she’s supposed to read up on medicinal herbs for a quiz, yet she can’t stop thinking about the conversation she overheard that morning between her parents.

“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind,” she gives him was she hopes is a reassuring smile but going by the increasingly worried curve of his frown and the tautness of the skin around her mouth, it probably looks more like a grimace.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her mouth opens before her mind registered what she wants to tell him, _if_ she even wants to say anything. No sound comes out and she clamps her lips shut, studying him carefully. Clarke likes Bellamy. She really does. So far, other than the knowledge that one day in the foreseeable future they would be married, their relationship has been nothing but platonic. She enjoys talking to Bellamy and spending time with him. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she is falling for him, but she’s fairly sure she will in time.

But can she trust him with her secret?

She shakes her head, looking away from him. “Thank you, but no.”

If he’s upset by her refusal, he sure as hell doesn’t show it. His features remain unreadable. “It’s alright. Everyone’s entitled to their secrets.”

The words are out before she has time to stop them. “You would know.”

The flare of alarm in his eyes is nearly imperceptible, but she sees it regardless. And that’s why she can’t tell him. Because as much as their friendship has become dear to her, Clarke felt from day one that there was a part of him he kept hidden away, a part of his life and of him she doesn’t know and therefore can’t trust.

She’s met his mother, Aurora, twice in the months they’ve been, well, not ‘dating’ precisely. Involved. When they get together it’s always at her quarters or on public spaces. She knows where he lives, of course, but the only time she visited him he refused to let her through the door and insisted they went someplace else. At first she thought he was embarrassed because his quarters were far smaller in comparison to hers and located in one of the less nicer sections of the Ark – it’s not exactly a secret that they come from very different classes – and therefore she’d subtly assured him she didn’t mind, but it soon became clear that he was purposefully keeping that aspect of his life away from her and she can’t help but wonder, and worry, why.

“Clarke,” she swallows under the intensity of his gaze. “You don’t have to give me any specifics. Are you in trouble?”

She shakes her head.

“Is anyone you care about in trouble?” his lips tighten to a grim line at her nod. “Who knows?”

“My parents. Wells.”

He sighs, eyelids lowering minutely. He leans closer to her over the table. “Whatever it is, you keep your mouth shut. It’s not worth it someone you love getting floated.”

“But – ”

He gives her a little head shake, eyes darting to her right where a pair of patrolling guards are making their rounds. Bellamy nods at them in acknowledgement, his hand darting across the table to hold hers.

Clarke relaxes her posture, leaning closer to him and giving the appearance that they are having a private moment. She turns her hand, twining their fingers together and studiously ignores her heart thundering in her chest.

“I’m sorry I have to work at the masquerade,” he says as the guards passed by, lowly to pretend it was just meant for her ears, but loud enough that wisps of their conversation carry to them. “You’ll be there?”

“No,” Clarke adds a dejected sigh to her wistful tone. “I have a lot of studying to do.”

It’s the truth, for the most part. She isn’t going to the masquerade but she doubts she’d be in the correct headspace to focus on plants she’s never seen and likely never will see when life on the Ark is in jeopardy.

Bellamy squeezes her hand, runs his thumb on the underside of her wrist. The weight settling low on her stomach and the tears that well in her eyes tell her, irrationally, that this is a goodbye.

* * *

Bellamy pushes insistently the comm button to the Griffin residence, barely holding back the urge to smash it to pieces and bang on the door instead.

The doors finally slide open. Before him stands Abby Griffin, eyes swollen and injected, fresh tear tracks running down her cheeks. Her usually neat hair is in wild disarray, like she ran her fingers through it and pulled harshly on the strands. The lights behind her are dimmed and the place looks a mess, a perfect match for her evident grief.

He can relate. His home looks just the same.

“Where is she?”

Abby’s lip wobbles and a tear falls down the corner of her eye. “They put her in solitary. The won’t let anyone see her. Not even me.”

Her words lash at his heart. Everything. He’s lost everything in the past twenty four hours. His mother, his sister, even Clarke.

“Bellamy?”

His head snaps up. He doesn’t even know how long he stood there, silent. The world as he knew it is gone. All he has left is an empty box of a home and guilt that makes every step he takes heavy like lead.

She reaches to squeeze his limp hand between both of hers. “I’m sorry about your family.”

Abby Griffin never quite finished warming up to him, unlike her husband. Her hands are cold against his skin, and they’re both shaking. He recognizes the pain swimming in her eyes as his own, and it’s sad that it had to take for their loved ones to be taken from them to recognize a kindred soul.

“I’m sorry about yours.”

* * *

“This is nonsense,” Kane spats. “Initiate launch procedures.”

Bellamy takes a threatening step toward him. “You are _not_ sending my sister and Clarke to a radiation soaked planet without me. Get me on that drop ship.”

Kane squares his shoulders. “Back off now, Janitor Blake.”

“I could’ve done what he asked,” Bellamy says calmly, pointing to the unconscious lump that is Shumway. “I could’ve shot the Chancellor and sneaked into the drop ship. Instead I came here,” he glances at Abby behind Kane. “To you.”

“And caused quite an uproar while you were at it, marching down the hallways with a knocked out member of the guard thrown over your shoulders.”

The voice of Chancellor Jaha carries through the control room. Bellamy unconsciously steels his spine at the shout of ‘Chancellor on deck’, not because he has any modicum of respect left for the man, but for the years of training in the guard. He glares at him, the man who ordered his mother’s execution and both his sister’s and Clarke’s confinement.

How the fuck Abby manages to work with him is beyond him.

“Would you’ve preferred the alternative? I still have the gun,” Bellamy rasps, fingers curling over the handle.

“Seize him!” Kane orders. Abby pushes past him to stand between them glaring fiercely, protecting Bellamy.

“Stand down,” the Chancellor’s command is heeded with no hesitation. He regards Bellamy with something akin to respect. “Are you volunteering to go down to Earth with the rest of the delinquents?”

“Yes.”

“You could die.”

Bellamy grits his teeth. “I don’t care.”

“It’s settled then. Get him a wristband,” Jaha’s eyes drop to Shumway, his lips curling downwards. “Take him into custody. I want to know who wants me dead.”

* * *

“You don’t like to be called princess, do you princess?”

Clarke opens her mouth to tell Finn off but Bellamy’s growl stops her.

“Get your own fucking nickname,” his eyes are cold as he glares at Finn. “There’re two dead guys waiting for you to bury them. Go.”

Clarke bites back a laugh, eyes dancing over the overbearing figure of Bellamy Blake glaring at Finn as he scrambles away. The overall he’s wearing is the same color the janitors use back at the Ark and she’s dying to ask about it but realizes now is not the time. He’s unzipped the upper part and shrugged off the sleeves, leaving the whole thing to cling from the fitted belt at his hips and revealing the impressive width of his shoulders in his threadbare black undershirt.

Being in lock up for so long didn’t do a good deal to stimulate the optimist in her but she has to admit being on the ground, free, with Bellamy far exceeded her expectations. This morning she woke up to her bleak existence and having nothing to look forward to except lonely hours and drawing the wall of her cell. Now…

Now everything is possible.

“So you have a sister,” she says, pushing the strands of hair that have come loose from her braid behind her ear. “That was your secret.”

Bellamy nods, his dark eyes fixed on her face. Looking at him, when she expected to never see him again – hell, she was sure she’d never see anyone but the review board before they sentenced her to die – but especially here, on the ground, under the sun where all the colors are bright and vibrant and so rich, it nearly takes her breath away.

“When was she locked up?”

He glances away with a frown, features tight to not show the pain she’s sure lurks beneath. His mother would’ve been floated for having a second child, she knows, and the short reunion of the Blake siblings Clarke witnessed made it quite clear to anyone with eyes that they care deeply for one another. Even having never met Bellamy before, Clarke would know this was a painful subject for him.

“Same time you were,” he finally says, dropping down to sit on the large rock she has her map splayed onto. “Treason?”

She swallows, and now it’s her turn to look away and keep a tight leash on the grief that never quite went away. “The Ark’s oxygen supply is failing. My dad wanted to come public. He thought the people had a right to know. Obviously he never made it that far.”

“Fuck. How?”

“Wells. You?”

“Took her to the masquerade,” he rasps, fists balling over his thighs. “I fucked up.”

She sits down beside him, knees brushing together, and curls her fingers on his shoulder. “You’re here now.” Bellamy sighs and his hand tentatively makes its way to her thigh, curling just over her knee. “Why are you here though?” she asks, all too aware that their faces are only separated by a few, inconsequent inches. “You weren’t in lockup.”

“I volunteered,” his hot breath fans over her cheeks, caressing her skin and sending shivers down her back.

Clarke smiles, picks up her map from where she pushed it away and holds it before them. “Well, I hope you’re ready because we have our work cut out for us. That over there,” she points over her shoulder to the peak rising beyond the forest. “It’s Mount Weather. We dropped on the wrong mountain.”

He curses colorfully, scowling over his shoulder at the place they need to get to before they starve. Clarke chuckles. This guy, the guy who would risk everything for his sister and come down to planet brimming with radiation with the odds of survival leaning heavily against him? She can trust him.

* * *

Bellamy grumbles, watching Finn flirting with Octavia.

“Easy,” Clarke walks beside him, shoulders brushing every other step they take. “They’re just talking.”

“If he keeps staring at her ass I will shoot him.”

She stops dead in her tracks. He stops walking as well, letting the others go on without them. Clarke studies him with narrowed eyes. “You aren’t kidding.”

 “I don’t make idle threats.”

“Maybe I should carry the gun just to be safe.”

His brow quirks up a notch and he smirks, white teeth flashing as he takes a few steps closer to her. He lifts the side of his shirt showing her the smooth expanse of tanned flesh and strong muscles and the gun tucked into the waistband of his overalls. “You’re welcome to try and get it from me.”

Clarke fights back a smile biting the inside of her cheek, all too aware of his closeness, his scent, and the telling blush she wishes could blame on the sun beating down on her pale skin, but can’t.

“Please promise me you won’t shoot him?” she rises her plaintive eyes to his, batting her eyelashes in the way she’d seen in those silly romantic films the Ark had in their database her mother detested and Clarke secretly loved.

Bellamy licks his lips. “Fine. Can I still punch him though?”

Clarke brushes past him in the direction the others disappeared. “Be my guest. But if you knock him out you’ll have to carry him.”

* * *

“How is he?” Bellamy crouches next to her where she’s leaning over Jasper’s limp body inspecting his wound.

“Stable, for now.” Her brow knits worriedly as she lifts the poultice and studies the injury. “The sooner we get back to camp the better. Is everyone ready to move forward?”

He nods. “The others went to the stream for water. With any luck Jaha will get lost on the way back and we won’t have to see him again.”

Her lips purse, the bottom one sticking out delectably. “You’re still really angry about the gun,” Clarke states, assuming correctly.

“He wasted all my bullets.”

“He saved your life,” she points out, grudgingly. He knows Wells is not her favorite person, having turned in her dad and caused his death.

“He wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t stolen the gun when I was too busy saving your life.”

She hums, agreeing. “Thank you about that, by the way.”

Bellamy slants his head, staring at her and enjoying watching her fidget under his eyes, looking anywhere but at him and hands flailing over Jasper’s brow. “No thanks are needed.”

* * *

“Nice work on the tent.”

Bellamy turns his head at the sound of Clarke’s voice, fingers stilling their work on the improvised mattress made of leaves and insulation he’s been sewing. “Thanks. I had help.”

The shadows dance on her face, the faint light of the torch nailed on the ground not enough to let him see her clearly. He can tell though by the tightness around her mouth and inflection of her voice that something is bothering her.

“Is Jasper okay?” he asks, standing up, knowing firsthand how worried she was about his life. “The seaweed worked?”

She nods. “He’ll be fine.” She angles her head towards him and he catches sight of fresh tear tracks glittering in the flames.

He’s on her in two quick strides. “Clarke,” he cups her cheek, tilts her face up.

Clarke lets out a shake breath. “It was my mom. She turned in my father. She’s the reason he’s dead.”

A million questions pile up inside him, all variations of ‘are you sure?’, but he swallows them. The pained sobs that wreak Clarke’s lithe body call to him, demanding he comfort her, soothe her, take care of her. He holds her tightly in his arms, takes her to his pallet when long minutes pass and tucks her in his side, rubbing her back to ease the tension of sobs that he can’t deny break his heart as her grief unfolds.

Later she’ll tell him about her conversation with Wells, about her own suspicions before that, about the last time she saw her dad and how the feel of his arms around her, the sound of his voice, even the color of his eyes are all fading from her memory. He’ll fall asleep long after she finally does, listening to every hitched breath that escapes her and hoping Abby Griffin never makes contact with them, for her sake.

* * *

Finn plops down on the couch next to Clarke, his side dangerously close to brush hers. “So you and Bellamy?”

“What about us?” Clarke’s gaze remains fixed on Charlotte’s curled up form, sleeping on one of the cots across the room.

“That was a pretty big fight you guys had… I mean, I thought you two were together.”

Clarke sighs, the events of this morning not far from her mind. Evidence pointing against Murphy for Wells murder, her and Bellamy disagreeing pretty heavily on how to deal with the situation, then Clarke going her own way and publically confronting Murphy and unwittingly turning a mob against him set on hanging him. Bellamy kicking the bucket from underneath Murphy’s feet while she begged him not to. Charlotte revealing she was the one who killed Wells and then taking her from camp while Bellamy distracted Murphy.

_“This is on you princess!”_

The lump in her throat doesn’t recede a bit and no matter how much she swallows it stays there, reminding her this is all her fault. Murphy is riding his self-righteous fury and intent on killing Charlotte and she has herself to blame for that.

“It’s complicated,” seeing Finn looking at her expectantly, Clarke elaborates sparsely, trying to hide the hint of irritation in her voice. “We were matched by the lottery.”

“So? It’s just statistics, it doesn’t mean anything. Especially down here,” he sounds like he’s just revealed a universal truth, with the smug look to go with it, and he inches closer to her on the couch.

Clarke is well aware Finn carries a torch for her. His infatuation with Octavia was a short lived one, it ended abruptly when she started becoming closer to Atom and it doesn’t seem to have picked up after he passed away. Now Finn follows her around camp, making himself useful every time she needs anything, be it getting more clean bandages and seaweed tea for her or just a sip of water.

He hovers over her. Like a fly. She doesn’t want to sound mean, but he is constantly around her, ‘helping’ her with her chores, which consist of cataloguing their sparse medical supplies and treating the small wounds the rest of the hundred suffer while erecting the wall. Her suggestions that he might be more needed outside where everyone is busting their asses to build up their defenses have gone practically on deaf ears.

Bellamy is furious. She never pegged him for the jealous type, but seeing his demeanor turn a complete one eighty whenever he comes to see her and Finn is there and the thunderous scowls he directs at the boy are clear indications. Yesterday he brought her lunch only to discover Finn had beaten him to it and he spent the rest of the day biting the head off of whoever looked at him the wrong way. She convinced him to dine on their tent, just the two of them, to discuss some very important matter she frankly pulled out of her ass as an excuse, but it mollified him greatly.

An image of her waking up in his arms this morning flashes through her memory. They’ve been doing that since the night she found out her mother was responsible for her father’s death, sharing a bed, and while it’s completely innocent and they haven’t done absolutely anything other than sleeping her heartbeat speeds up just by thinking about Bellamy’s arms around her.

“It means something to me,” she enunciates the words very carefully, gives Finn a pointed look hoping he’ll finally get the hint that she is most definitely not interested in him.

His face falls and a snarl curls his lips. “Even if he almost killed Murphy earlier?”

“You don’t know him,” she spats. “He didn’t _want_ to hang Murphy, he’s not a killer. He made a bad choice urged by an angry mob. What happened today was as much my fault as it was his.”

“You couldn’t know they’d react like that,” he pats her arm comfortingly, hand lingering.

Clarke shrugs away, scooting to the other end of the couch and curling against the armrest. “Bellamy knew. Goodnight Finn.”

* * *

Of all the things Bellamy expected to see upon entering his tent after what he considered  to be the worst day on the ground to date, Clarke Griffin sitting cross legged on his bed shrouded by darkness was not one of them.

He’s immensely relieved she is there though, selfish bastard he is. He thought after today she’d find another place to sleep. They worked their differences on the cliff when they decided to banish Murphy but he wasn’t kidding himself that everything was fine between them. He behaved abominably today. He yelled at her, blamed her for the bloodthirsty crowd turning against Murphy, then proceeded to hang him, showing to all present that he was a coward too afraid to do the right thing because the people might sway against him. If he had stopped him, Murphy wouldn’t have gone after Charlotte and she wouldn’t have jumped off the cliff. Hell, if he hadn’t talked to Charlotte on the first place, she wouldn’t have killed Wells. The guilt for those events rests solely on his shoulders. Clarke shouldn’t want anything to do with him.

Yet here she is.

“Am I still welcome here?”

“Of course you are.”

Her small timid smile encourages him to sit next to her. Timid. Ha. That’s a new look on Clarke. He didn’t think she had a timid bone in her body.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte. I know you cared for her.”

“I’m sorry about accidentally turning her into a killer. Wells would still be here if I’d kept my mouth shut.”

Her hand flies to grip his over his knee, her gaze fierce. “That isn’t on you.”

He never makes the conscious decision to lower his mouth and brush his lips against hers, but it’s glorious when it happens all the same. Her lips are warm and soft just as he imagined, pliant under his and moving in perfect rhythm with him. Her breath comes out through her nose tickling his cheek and she sighs, parting for him when he applies a little pressure on the seam of her lips with his tongue. His hand brushes her face in a gentle caress.

He chases her down until she’s flat on her back and so soft underneath him he fights down the animalistic growl born in his chest. He settles against her side, bracing his weight on his forearm above her head.

“Okay?” he asks in between suckling kisses, a warm feeling spreading through him as he feels her smile against his lips.

“Definitely okay,” her little smile stays in place and grows when he ducks forward to place a final kiss right on the freckle over her upper lip. Her chest rumbles with laughter, the private kind that isn’t loud and easily carried away, but only for their ears.

Clarke rolls on her side presenting her back to him. Bellamy’s arm slides under her head to cushion it, the other arm wrapping around her waist where her hand twines their fingers against her belly and he drags her flush against his body until they are firmly spooned.

* * *

“You never braid your hair anymore.”

Clarke’s eyebrow arches up warningly. “Is that a complain Bellamy Blake?”

He chuckles. “An observation. I actually like it better like this,” his fingers thread through her sun kissed locks, expertly gathering all her hair at the back of her neck, exerting gentle pressure to tilt her head up. “I get to do this,” he kisses her soundly, unconcerned with the smirking looks of everyone around them, groaning against her when she parts her lips for him with a broken little sigh and loops her arms around his waist beneath his jacket.

“Come on you two, keep the PDA to a minimum ‘kay?” Raven teases, wielding her wrench at them as Bellamy scowls at her and Clarke hides her face on the crook of his neck. “Some of us are trying to work on these flares. You can pick it up when we get these babies in the air.”

* * *

“You brought a grounder to camp. A _grounder_ , Bellamy!” Clarke struggles to keep her voice down, not wanting their discussion to be overheard by anyone but simultaneously so furious she wants to scream at him for hours on end.

She paces in front of him, every muscle in her body tense like a rock and worry gnawing at the pit of her stomach. Her hands are tainted pink, remnants of Finn’s blood stubbornly clinging to her skin despite how frantically she scrubs her hands.

She needn’t worry about their conversation carrying through to strange ears. Everyone is currently piling inside the drop ship seeking cover from the storm thundering over their heads. They are practically the only ones left outside, no one cares about their leaders arguing under terrible weather conditions. But presenting a united front to the group is important to Clarke, so she tries her best to hide just how much she wants to strangle Bellamy.

“He was chained the whole time,” his voices rises over the deafening sound of the wind billowing around them. “No one followed us.”

“You can’t know that for sure. We have no idea how these people operate.”

“Exactly. We need answers. They already killed four of our people, injured Finn and kidnapped _my sister_. We need to know who our enemies are.”

The sky opens with a thunderous rumble and cold rain showers down on them. Bellamy pulls her up the ramp and into the drop ship, giving Miller the order to close the hatch.

Raven jumps from her seat at the radio. “Clarke! I have your mom on the line.”

Bellamy squeezes her hand, his eyes downcast but determined. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

Clarke nods, unable to shake the feeling that something horrible is going to happen. She squeezes his hand back, still mad that he made this decision without consulting her but understanding both his reasoning and that now is not the time to hash it out.

He bellows to clear the room to give her space to work and everyone follows his command, climbing up to the second level in silence. Clarke allows herself precisely five seconds to internally freak out about what’s about to come, the uncertainty of Finn’s life and just how far Bellamy is willing to go, how much of his humanity he’s willing to compromise to get the information they need out of their prisoner.

She shakes herself when the time’s up. She has work to do.

* * *

_Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things._

The words stick with Clarke for a long time, after they clean up the camp somewhat, after she talks to her mother and tells she knows what she did, and now kneeling by the stream, pebbles uncomfortably digging into her knees through the fabric of her jeans, hands cold and numb cupping water too murky to show her reflection. _Who we are…_

And who is that exactly? Does it even matter? Here, on the ground, it’s all about surviving. Who they have to be plays a bigger role, keeps them and everyone else alive, barely, but alive still. Who they are is inconsequential.

She splashes the water on her face, rubs the sweat and dirt away, droplets falling down her neck and drenching her shirt. Her silent tears mix with the water after a few times of repeating the process and Clarke doesn’t have to worry about _anyone_ seeing them or noticing the telling tracks. The water is cold enough to irritate, she is angry enough that her fingers chafe the delicate skin of her face and the result, she imagines, is both terrible and magnificent.

Her eyes find Bellamy, sitting by the shore several feet away from her, knees bent and arms resting on them. The distance between them is perfect. He’s far enough that they can both deal privately and come to terms with the terrible things they did today, but so near she doesn’t doubt the tiniest noise from her would have him running to her side, and she as well.

To protect each other? To ground themselves to _who they are_ and pretend _who they need to be_ is a whole different entity made of nightmares and pain and regret and grief?

His head is down, hands gripped before him in supplication. He told her once that his mother had instilled on him from a young age the habit of praying and keeping the faith of the sacred tree. A few days ago, talking about anything and everything in the dead of night, he confessed they rarely went to the services presided by Vera Kane, but held them in the privacy of their quarters with Octavia, appointing her keeper of their tree made from scraps of fabric, as a way of giving her structure. He stopped praying when his mother was killed and Octavia taken from him.

Maybe he’s started again. The idea gives her hope. Maybe _who they are_ needn’t disappear after all.

* * *

They leave Dax’s body where he fell and trudge back to the depot, half carrying each other. The adrenalin and whatever the hell it was that made him see his mother, Murphy and Charlotte ebb away, bringing clarity back to his brain.

He can now add killer to the growing list of things he never thought he could possibly become, that he was _too good_ to become, right after bully and torturer.

Bellamy holds Clarke’s hand and helps her down the narrow staircase. She’s shaking, and he is too, but her skin is warm and her pulse beats steadily against his fingers curled around her wrist. The sound of her breathing is like music to his ears.

He doesn’t regret killing Dax. That should scare him, sicken him, yet it fills him with conviction and direction. If he has to be a killer to keep them alive, to protect Clarke and Octavia and everyone else, then so be it.

Clothes are peeled in silence and splayed on various surfaces to dry. It started raining sometime before they reached the depot, a heavy drizzle that soaked their bones in a matter of minutes. A bed is hastily improvised with the many blankets they found and Bellamy sits down on its nest.

“Let me look at your face.”

Clarke kneels between his splayed legs, wets a cloth with water from their canteen and washes away the blood caked on his face. He takes stock of his injuries as she cleans them, a busted lip, a few cuts on his right cheekbone that sting and the bridge of his nose hurts like a bitch. Her fingers gently run the sides of his nose and her smile reassures him it’s not broken.

He repays the favor, folding the cloth and using the clean part to wipe the mud from her, revealing her fair skin. Dax didn’t strike her, at least not on the face. His gaze falls to her midsection where he saw that bastard hit her with the back of his riffle, and he scowls at the darkened spot under her breast. He runs the back of his knuckles there, her chest rising with a gulp of air at the unexpected feel of his touch.

They’ve been sharing the same bed since they dropped to the ground. Contact is not something they’re strangers to. But it’s never been like this, both almost naked, completely alone with not a soul around them for miles and miles.

His hand curls around her waist, applies gentle pressure to push her on the back. Bellamy follows her, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her, caging her, then scoots down until his face is level with the bruise. The colors are hard to distinguish in the orange glow of the emergency lightsticks but he guesses by the wild array of shades marring her skin that she’ll have a black, violet and blue rainbow come morning the size of her balled fist on the right side of her ribcage. He splays his fingers there, carefully, feeling her ribs. She would’ve been doubled with pain and told him if she had cracked a rib, but he needs to reassure himself that the damage is minor, that’s she’s alright, all the same.

Clarke’s hand curls around the forearm holding his weight, softly rubbing her thumb on the underside. Bellamy looks up at her, finding nothing but silent encouragement and desire pooling in her eyes. He ducks his head and kisses her bruised skin.

It’s the first time he’s kissed her anywhere but her lips. He plans to kiss every inch of her before the sun comes up.

Her breathing speeds up, pushing her chest up and down. The delectable mounds of her breasts trapped in her simple black bra call to him, and he trails his kisses to that area, nuzzles his nose on the valley between them and inhaling her sweet scent. His tongue burns a wet path on the tops of each globe, teeth pulling on the fabric of her bra to bring the cups down.

Her puffy pink nipples are revealed and Bellamy licks his lips in anticipation. Clarke’s moan catches his attention and he glances up finding her staring at him hotly, lips parted and pupils dilated to the point the electric blue of her eyes is nearly gone. He draws her left nipple between his lips, suckling lightly at first, groans as it pebbles against his tongue. Her hand flies to cup the back of his head, threading her fingers on his messy locks.

Bellamy pulls away, sitting back slightly. His hands wrap around her sides and Clarke arches up slightly and giving him room to unhook her bra. He peels it off and throws it away, not caring where it lands, and dives back in. He opens his mouth and licks the underside of one of her breasts. Clarke grips his shoulders and lightly rakes her nails across his skin. His tongue tasted her, teased and played with the stiff tips. The feel of her smooth skin under his tongue and her taste drive him crazy, need fisting at the base of his hard cock.

His hand slides to the inside of her thighs parting them easily and spreading them wide apart, moving until he fits snugly in the cradle of her legs. The heat of her pussy reaches his jutting cock through her panties and his boxers and Bellamy rocks against her pulling a loud moan from her lips. Clarke digs her nails on his shoulders and wraps her legs tight around his hips, arching up to rub against him.

He plants a kiss at the base of her throat. “Easy princess,” another kiss right under her chin. “We’re gonna do this slowly,” this he breathes right on her ear, smirking as her body is wreaked by shivers.

His attention returns to her breasts, sucking and nipping and pulling her nipples until his torture leaves them nice and hard and Clarke undulating underneath him. Looking at her flushed and panting, his cock twitching at the sight, Bellamy begins to lick and kiss a path down her ribs, her belly and the hollow of her hip as he backs away until his broad shoulder keep her thighs spread and his face hovers over her pussy.

Clarke’s hands clutch the blankets under them, unable to touch him anymore as he scoots lower. She stiffens when he begins to pull her panties down her legs and her hands dart to cover herself. Bellamy wraps his hand around one of her wrists, slightly pulling it away from the place she tries to hide, and kissing her knuckles first, then her palm. Without breaking eye contact, he leans forward and places his lips on the hollow where her thigh and hip meet.

“Okay?” his lips press lower, right where pale, soft curls start. She bites her lip, but there’s a smile, a small one, playing there as well. “Close your eyes,” Bellamy dips his fingers into her folds, watches her breathing increase. “Relax for me. I got you.”

Her head drops with a soft thud as she does as he asked. Bellamy licks his lips in anticipation, parts her folds with his thumbs and groans at the amount of wetness gathered there. The knowledge that _no one_ has ever seen Clarke like this, that he’s the first, the only, to ever touch her, taste her, _fuck_ her, brings out primal instincts he didn’t know he possessed. He wants to imprint himself on her somehow, make it so that there is no doubt to her and the whole world that she belongs to him.

His tongue lightly traces her clit. He groans, the taste of her so heavenly his face buries flush against her pussy, his tongue coming back to press harder against the bundle of nerves. A whimper tears from her lips and goes straight to his cock. Clarke’s hips jerk up but he catches her easily, bringing them back down, his fingers digging on the inside of her thighs. Bellamy licks lower, tracing her inner folds and gathering the sweet nectar at the entrance of her pussy.

His swipes grow in intensity giving her no respite. He pushes his tongue inside her, swirling, encouraged by her moans and whimpers. His hold on her is strong, trying to keep her still but failing where her escalating climax makes her squirm and push up against him. He draws her clit inside his mouth, keeps it in place with his teeth, gently, while he lashes it mercilessly with his tongue.

She thrashes, clawing at the blankets bunched around her hips, panting. Her body tenses and she suddenly grows silent. The climax strikes her with a final swipe of his tongue, so powerful her body bows upward impossibly high. The loud noises coming out of her are music to his ears as he laps at the honey gushing out of her.

Bellamy finally tears his mouth away. He looks at her, his cock threatening to burst a hole through his boxers, as she lays there, eyes firmly shut and breathing erratically. “It’s okay princess,” his hands rubs soothingly up and down her leg and he kisses her belly. “I got you.”

He peels off his boxers before climbing up her body. Clarke lazily lifts her lids, the color of her eyes so intense it nearly takes his breath away. He rolls his hips against her, pressed against her wet heat, his stiff cock sliding between her folds. Clarke pulls his face down for a kiss, a mess of lips and clashing teeth, of panted breaths and battling tongues without rhyme or reason but that leaves him hungry for her still.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says seriously, his gaze fixed on hers.

Clarke ignores him, lifts her head to bite his chin. “If you don’t make love to me right now I will shoot you.”

He chuckles. “All the rounds are probably dud so good luck with that.”

He angles his hips, the tip of his thick shaft probes the entrance of her pussy. He pauses, every muscle in his body tense as he fights the powerful urge to just bury himself inside her in one thrust. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she explores his warm back with wandering hands. “We’re going easy, remember?”

Bellamy pushes, so slowly sweat beads on his forehead. He holds her gaze, watches carefully every fraction of movement on her features to make sure she isn’t in pain. He’s never been with a virgin before but he knows there can be pain involved and the last thing he wants is to hurt her.

The bulbous head of his cock finally pushes through. A delicate frown knits her brow, her chest pushes up to rub against him. He inches deeper at a snail’s pace until he meets a barrier. Clarke brushes kisses on his neck and chest, moves her hips in a silent plea to continue. Bellamy bites down a curse, turns his head and glues their lips together and with a hard, determined thrust he breaks through the flimsy barrier and pushes all the way until he’s deeply seated at the end of her channel.  

Clarke tenses under him and he swallows her pained whimper, sipping from her mouth and trying to distract her with soothing kisses.

Her muscles relax after a few moments and she nods when he looks at her inquisitively. He begins to move, setting a slow pace while she continues to adjust to him and he holds a tight rein of the desire to plummet her like a beast.

Soon enough, her legs hook above his ass, pushing him closer and meeting him thrust for thrust. Bellamy’s control snaps, increasing his speed and driving inside her so hard Clarke squeals, clings to his shoulders, her moans urging him on. He adjusts his angle, presses down hard on her clit every time his hips jerk to push deep inside her.

Her walls clench like a vise around his cock, her body trembling under him. His face falls to her neck, biting and sucking at the base of her throat and a hand sneaks to pinch her nipple, revving her passion higher. She cries out when the orgasm hits her, tearing through her with uncontrollable shudders and pulling his climax from his.

“Clarke,” he groans, his hips jerking hard as he starts to come.

Bellamy’s mind goes white, all his senses filled by her. He slows his strokes drawing out the ending of their lovemaking for as long as his body doesn’t shut down on him and finally just hold her as they try to catch their breaths.

“Bell,” Clarke’s lips are hot against his neck, his shoulders trapped on the stronghold of her arms. Bellamy kept his face pressed to the blankets beside her head, waiting for his brain to remember how to function properly, his arms braced enough to keep his upper chest from smothering her with his weight, but just barely.

He finally topples over and collapses beside her on his back, dragging her with him. Clarke scoots closer, throws one leg over his and presses herself along his length, adjusting until his chest pillowed her cheek. “That was wonderful,” her voice is quiet in the fading glow of the lightsticks, small and soft in a way he’s never heard it.

He wraps his arm securely against her, squeezing her closer when he feels her lips leave a ghost of a kiss over his beating hear. He fights to stay awake but falls under a sated sleep short after her breathing evens out indicating her slumber.

* * *

“He’s touching her. _Why_ is he touching her.”

“Calm down, Finn’s just helping her,” Jasper says reassuringly, splitting his attention from the bridge to the trees.

“She’s a big girl. She can walk without his fucking help,” Bellamy grits out, watching Clarke and Finn through the scope as they met Octavia, Spacewalker’s hand firmly planted on the middle of her back.

“We got people coming.”

He tears his sight to the other end of the bridge at Raven’s words. Sure enough, a lone figure appears at the opposite end of the bridge running toward Clarke and the others. Bellamy releases the safety of the riffle when he recognizes the newcomer as the grounder he tortured. The heartfelt embrace between his sister and him tells him everything he needs to know about how he escaped in the first place and how this meeting was set up.

Before he’s tempted to take him out on the spot, a party of three rides in on horseback. His lips press to a grim line when he sees the two riders flanking the female grounder are armed to the teeth.

“Grounder princess looks pissed,” Raven whispers as she jumps from her horse and struts to the middle of the bridge.

“My princess has that effect,” Bellamy’s eyes narrow dangerously watching Finn grab Clarke’s hand and try to pull her along, but the way she yanks her hand away and scowls at Spacewalker before leaving him in her dust and making her way, alone, to meet the grounder princess fill him with satisfaction. “Your boyfriend is getting his ass kicked when we get back to camp,” he tells to Raven.

Her face scrunches into a snarl. “You have my blessing.”

* * *

“It didn’t feel right,” Clarke draws on the wide expanse of Bellamy’s chest, her head pillowed on his shoulder. His head shoots up and his alarmed gaze finds her. She chuckles. “ _This_ felt good,” she assures him, hitching her leg higher over his, the feeling of his scratchy, hairy skin rubbing her much softer one and the memory of what they just did a few minutes ago rekindling her desire. She got to be on top this time. It was _really_ good. “I mean talking to Anya. It didn’t feel right being there as the leader of our group without you.”

His eyes are black and warm as coals in the dancing light of the torch. He twirls his fingers catching a lock of her hair on her back. “I was there though. I will always have your back.”

“I know. It was kind of awesome when you shot her and saved my life,” she smiles, reaching up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t joke about that,” Bellamy rasps, arms wrapping around her.

Before a repeat of the mind-blowing sex she’s become addicted to can take place, the entrance of the tent is flapped open and Miller ducks his head in covering his eyes with his hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! But you gotta see this! Something’s wrong, the Exodus ship is coming down NOW and it’s not slowing down!”

As fast as he came he disappears, leaving Clarke and Bellamy to hastily throw their clothes on.

* * *

The sound of bone crashing fills the still air as Bellamy’s elbow connects with Olson’s nose and he tears the riffle from him, shoving him to the ground. “Point a gun at her again and I’ll put a bullet in your head. Got it?”

“Bellamy!” Octavia shouts.

He sees her run to Clarke’s side and barely catch her before she collapses. He sprints up the ramp and takes Clarke from his sister and carries her into the drop ship with Octavia hot on his heels.

“I don’t feel so good,” Clarke whimpers and he holds her a little tighter. He wants to stay with her and rock her until she gets better.

“You’re gonna be okay. Didn’t you hear O? The sickness passes quickly,” Murphy moves from his hammock, a breathing testament of those words, and Bellamy gently deposits Clarke there. He brushes her hair from her face, caressing her crinkled brow. “You’re gonna be up and bossing everyone around in no time.”

“You have to go outside,” she rasps, weakly batting his hand away. “You can’t get sick too. They need one of us.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ll stay,” Octavia offered, placing a cool wet cloth on Clarke’s forehead. Her eyes meet his for a second before dancing away. “I’ve been exposed the longest and I’m still okay. Lincoln said I might be immune.”

Bellamy grits his teeth. The information that grounder supplied might give them a fighting chance against the army marching on them at first light but he is still not happy Octavia spends time with him.

Miller bellows for him from outside. “Okay. You let me know if anything changes.” Octavia nods.

With a final glance to Clarke’s now sleeping form, he storms out. He has a grounder attack to get ready for.

* * *

 “I never want to be without you.”

Clarke whispers the words to the crook of his neck, her breathing still harsh and shallow from the mind numbing pleasure they just shared. Bellamy’s arms loop around her. He turns them around and tucks her to his side, dropping a consuming kiss on her panting lips.

“I never want to be without you either.”

* * *

"They still aren’t back."

Bellamy balls his fists, glaring at the gate like it might make Clarke walk through it faster. “They had Myles with them?”

"Yeah," Raven bites her lip. He knows things between her and Spacewalked were tough but her concern for him is obvious. The three of them have been gone too long, about an hour since the sun came down. 

Clarke would know better than staying out of camp this long. Finn wouldn’t get them lost. If they aren’t here it’s because something happened to them.

"Find Jasper and Monty and get the radios. We’re going out to find them."

With a nod she turns her back to him and sprints away. Bellamy tries to calm down, tells himself he needs to keep a cool head in order to find Clarke and bring her home, but it’s hard. His gut tells him something bad happened and the mere thought of Clarke being hurt or worse is enough to bring him to his knees. He can’t lose her. He only just found her.

* * *

Running into Bellamy’s arms is like coming home. She doesn’t care that everyone is looking at them or that his hold is almost painful. All Clarke cares is his scent and his warmth and the sound of his voice, gruff and deep, whispering “You’re back. I thought you were gone,” and the kisses he brushes over her head and face unconcerned with her unwashed state.

He’s not looking too good himself. With a gasp she reaches to gently touch the dark bruises around his neck. “What happened to you?”

He grimaces. “It’s a long story,” his fingers trace a line down her cheek and  the sting she feels tells her there’s more there than just a bruise as she’d hoped. Lincoln hit her pretty hard when he was pretending to kill her. “I will kill them all,” he growls, fiercely.

Clarke swallows, closes her eyes at the intensity of his gaze. He’s going to hate her for this. “Another time, maybe. We have to run now.”

* * *

He isn’t going to make it.

It hits her like punch in the gut, sucking out all the air from her lungs. The distance is too great. That grounded is too strong. Bellamy’s too tired to hold him off.

“Bellamy, hurry!”

He takes a hit to the back of his head before he can make two paces is her direction. The grounder shoves him to the ground and begins to throw punches Clarke can hear clearly over the roar of the battle around them. _He’s going to kill him…_

She’s going to have to close the hatch and he’s not going to be safely inside when that happens.

Out of nowhere, Finn tackles the grounder off Bellamy. He stays down for a split second, then jumps back to his feet and stumbles to join Finn and the grounder, throwing punches and blocking them as best as he can. When another grounder plunges at them and gets dangerously close to the ramp he blocks him with a wide swing of his arm.

_Look at me damn it!_

He never does. His eyes are fixed on their incoming enemies, anticipating them and holding them off, giving her a chance to close the hatch before it’s too late. She wants to scream at him for sacrificing his life, run out to his side and stay there where she belongs, fighting, until fire licks at them and the world is no more. She wants to be selfish and demand he just look at her one last time, just meet her eyes and let her feel them wash over her the way the always do like his world ends and begins and starts all over again before she has to turn back and end it all,

“We need to get inside!” Miller pulls her to her feet and pushes her to the entrance of the drop ship, shooting at any grounder coming their way.

Her last glance of Bellamy is of his back, tackling the grounder. The tears run freely down her cheeks when she pulls the lever up, words she never told but _should have_ clogging up her throat.

* * *

“What animal is this?” Finn asks, eyeing the piece of meat in his hand warily.

“Some kind of rodent. Eat your dinner,” Bellamy bites into the meat. The taste doesn’t register. For all he cares it could be ashes in his mouth. “We attack at first light. They’ll never see us coming.”

Finn remains silent. They’ve been over the plan a hundred times. There’s nothing left to discuss.

Later, Bellamy wills his body to sleep, rationalizing the hours of rest he can get in proportion to the hellish day that waits for him. Clarke’s image in his mind is a little fainter each day, but there’s enough of her left to hold close to his heart with the promise to see her again.

He will burn the whole damn mountain if he has to. He’s getting her back.

* * *

“It really bothered me that I couldn’t remember the last time I kissed you. I thought you were gone and I couldn’t remember the last time I kissed you.”

Tears well her eyes but she doesn’t let them fall. Now is not the time to cry. Clarke shivers, Bellamy’s lips nibbling at the back of her neck, suckling and biting until he’s happy his mark will stay with her for days. She finds his possessive side a huge turn on and she loves carrying on her skin a token of his feelings for her. That’s how she first tracked the days in Mount Weather. The fainted bruises on her shoulder and breast told her upon waking up that she’d been unconscious for about three days, and two days later the last trace of them was gone.

She grieved for him daily, but she only allowed herself to cry when his marks faded completely. The last bit of Bellamy Blake had disappeared from this world and nearly took her sanity with him.

He’ll apologize later, swear he’ll never do it again, just like he always did, but then when the bruise fades they’ll be back here and he’ll give her a new one. She will probably demand it if he doesn’t. They are always located on places easily concealed, like the back of her neck where her shirt and the curtain of her hair hide them, or on her breast, her belly and one particularly glorious time, the inside of her thigh. It’s not about him publicly staking his claim or about her flaunting their relationship. She gives as good as she gets, the wild array of claw marks on Bellamy’s back can attest to that. The bruises are only theirs to know of. The time he marked on her thigh Clarke walked around perpetually wet and dragged him to the nearest secluded location to have her way with him half a dozen times each day until it disappeared. She could barely walk after a few days and Bellamy had friction burns on places never to be mentioned again, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“You were on the late shift so you slept in,” she tells him, her hand reaching back and threading her fingers through his hair. She vividly remembers that morning, holding onto it and many other sweet moments they shared when things were truly grim at the Mountain. “I brought you tea and berries. You kissed me and tried to convince me to forget Starr and her sprained ankle and stay in bed with you.”

He hums, hooks his hand on her underside of her knee and pushes it up and over his hip, entering her from behind with a steady thrust. “Now I remember.”

Clarke sighs, turns her face to kiss and lick the underside of his biceps where her head is pillowed as he slowly rolls his hips against her. This is not the first time they’ve been together since he rescued her and the others. Hell, if she’s being honest, she’s lost count. In the as of yet short time of her freedom, the first and foremost important thing had been to find a secure place to take the rest of the hundred, and then intimately reacquaint herself with Bellamy. The Arkers had provided the first, and indirectly the second too, giving them a private cabin to sleep in the remnants of their station.

“Bellamy,” the head of his cock nudges the spot deep inside her he knows very well, making her jerk in his arms as he leisurely rubs the bundle of nerves. “Harder. I need you.”

He bites down on her shoulder, but the fleeting pain only adds to her pleasure. His fingers strum her clit as his hips snap against her bottom, his hold on her the only thing keeping her in from sliding up the bed with the force of his thrusts.

“Clarke,” he growls as she shatters around him heralding his release, loud moans tearing from her. “Love you.”

It’s not the first time he says those words either. “I love you too,” she turns her head back and pulls him down for a hungry kiss.

Won’t be the last either.

**Author's Note:**

> So? What did you think? Please leave a comment, I love to hear from you!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Matched by Banshee_In_The_Dark"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194413) by [PeggyStarkk (LupusUlulans)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusUlulans/pseuds/PeggyStarkk)




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